A/N: First off, this fic is actually a dream a friend of mine had. She has a ZADR and/or RAPR dream EVERY NIGHT! And sometimes when she naps in the day too!
Anyway, you know dreams tend to be a bit random, and I've kept most of the original dialogue and stuff, so there you go! Enjoy!

Dreamed by: Ynnep

Formatted by: Andalitebandit6

Proof-read by: Capras Hircus

Chapter 1:

Dib glared moodily at Zim from his seat in class. The green boy was toying with some alien device or other.

How could people not see it? he wondered, as Zim pushed a button and the device began to glow. Just how gullible are these people to believe his stupid 'skin condition' excuse? Or is it that they simply don't care? And why do I, a person who DOES care, have to be called crazy and made miserable for it?

Zim's device gave off a whirring sound and suddenly bounced out of his hands, hitting the alien's forehead and knocking off his wig. "Ow!"

No one so much as batted an eye in his direction, not even as Zim picked up his wig and stuck it crookedly back on his head, muttering something about premature balding.

Dib's left eye started twitching.

At the sound of the end of the day bell, he jumped up and stormed out of the classroom doors screaming, "DAMN IT TO HELL! I CAN'T TAKE IT ANY MORE! ZIM'S AN ALIEN AND I'M NOT CRAZY!"

One of his classmate's voices followed him out, "You're crazy!"

Zim snickered as he also got up from his seat and marched out into the hallway with the others. "Humph, stupid human..."

Dib ran all the way home, burst in the door and didn't even bother to greet his father, who by chance happened to be home that day. He just shut himself up in his room and locked it. What did it matter anyway? His father thought he was crazy too. Even Gaz. It was nothing new. Dib thought he should be used to it by now.

Automatically he pulled out his laptop, seeking the familiarity and comfort he often found in the Swollen Eyeball chat room. They knew he wasn't crazy at least. They knew what was really out there.

Clicking on the chat room's link, he noticed there were already some people there. He was about to log in, when he noticed his name mentioned.

Curiosity held his finger hovering over the 'login' button as he eavesdropped on their conversation.

Agent 7 says: I think I found a radioactive waffle in my toaster last night. Should I eat it?

Agent Q says: If you do, make sure Mothman doesn't catch you! He might think you're an alien! LOL

Agent 7 says: Huh?

Agent Q says: Don't you remember Dark Booty telling us about the time Mothman kept calling him to show him video footage of his proof that his neighbor was an alien and all he was doing was eating waffles? Sometimes I swear that guy's got a few screws loose, if you know what I mean. I like to eat waffles. Does that make me an alien? Oo;

Agent 7 says: Oh yeah, I remember -.- Were those waffles radioactive too?

Agent Q says: I dunno. Might've been. (Shrugs)

Agent 7 says: I'll bet they were! It would explain his odd skin condition. Things exposed to radioactivity have a tendency to turn green. Do you think I'd look good in green? My skin's too yellow...

Dib wordlessly turned the power off and folded his laptop closed. He remained motionless for a time, brooding, and then strode over to his dresser table looking up into his reflection to ponder, Am I really crazy?

He searched his reflection's eyes, looking for a glint of what might be his insanity. He saw only himself, saw only his head that everyone said was big, saw only his hair that everyone taunted was pointy, saw only the confused little boy whom everyone called crazy.

Then he caught sight of one of his UFO magazines lying on the dresser top. It stared back at him, an old bearded man on the cover screaming at him to buy a shiny tinfoil-ish hat to keep Martians from reading your mind. It was only 'weird kids' who read these magazines. Normal kids wouldn't even have this kind of stuff lying around.

Dib slid a hand across the dresser, bumping the magazine into the trashcan that sat nearby. As an after thought, he sought out the rest of magazines and dumped those too. Then his posters, calendars, bed-sheets, and in the end, he had to haul everything out to the dumpster.

When he came back, he surveyed his empty room. Maybe he should've waited until the next day AFTER buying replacement sheets and whatnot. Then he shrugged. It wasn't a cold night, so he'd live. He'd have to go shopping for 'normal' stuff tomorrow.

Dib went to look at himself in the mirror again. The glasses would have to go. He remembered his father having bought him some contact lenses long ago, but it had gotten too tedious to remember to take them out at night, to put them in without poking his eyes, and having them constantly rupture.

He walked to the bathroom and opened the medicine cabinet, taking out the little forgotten circular box. He took off his glasses and set his contacts in, but not without stabbing himself again, "Ouch! Stupid..."

When he'd finally gotten them both on, he checked himself out in the mirror again. Something still wasn't right. He opened the cabinet again, taking out a pair of scissors stored there. Its twin blades flashed in the florescent lights and then turned black, hidden among the dark tresses of his hair...

(To be continued)